Instinct
by Diary
Summary: Warning: Potentially disturbing content. This is when it ends, this is what he could have avoided if he done a better job of picking when to listen to himself and when not to. Complete.


Disclaimer: I do not own Shameless.

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He doesn't know where he came up with it –obviously, it wasn't something dear old dad or his brothers imparted on him- but he's always felt it only right or fair or something that whoever he's with get off.

For all the times he refuses to go by right and wrong, fair and unfair, this is one time he tries to follow that.

It doesn't have anything to do with him liking to bottom, and despite the fact some girls just can't be brought off, no matter what he's willing to do, no matter how hard he tries, as much as he sometimes wishes it did, he'd honest enough with himself to know it's not responsible for him being gay.

That's why he has a continuing fondness for Angie that goes beyond it being good for his rep; the first time, he was a dumb kid, horrible with both, and he still managed to get her off.

He remembers staring, glad there weren't any mirrors around to show how dumb he must have looked, and she'd shaken her head. 'I don't fake, kid. Life's too short. If who I'm with can't do it, my bunny makes an appearance. You ready for another round?'

After it was cleared that her bunny wasn't an actual animal of any sort, he'd gotten her to teach him some tricks.

The first time he caught Mandy giving some punk a blowjob under a bridge, he'd busted the kid's nose and took her out for ice-cream. 'You have a lock on your door; use it,' he'd told her. 'Never be stupid enough to let them gag you, and if someone can't or won't get you off, don't waste your time, sis.'

So, when she told him that Ian Gallagher, who looked more like a boy-next-door cheerio's commercial than a Southside hoodrat, had put his hand over her mouth and pushed her away, refusing to even try, despite her being at his beck-and-call, he knew he had to teach him a lesson.

Sometimes, he hates her for that.

Before he could get to cheerio boy, she told him they'd worked things out, and _Ian_ respected her. They were boyfriend and girlfriend, now. He'd rolled his eyes, ducked as she threw things, not liking his sharp opinion on that, and went on to keep making life suck as much as possible for both her boyfriend and her boyfriend's boss, because, he knew that cowardly Muslim had somehow shielded Gallagher.

He sometimes thinks he should listen to his inner- whatever. Compass, conscience, common sense, it probably starts with a 'c', whatever it is. Most annoying, unshakable things do.

Because, he knew, Ian Gallagher on top of him, crossbar against him, an all-too-familiar look on the stupidly freckled face above him, this wasn't going to end well. Oh, he'd be able to bring Gallagher off, no problem, they were both teenage boys, living in crowded houses, the options they did have not that great. Gallagher wouldn't talk, because whether he looked like a cheerio commercial or not, he was Southside, and there wasn't much of a way to tell on someone without incriminating yourself in the process.

No, he knew, just instinctively, that this might end up breaking him.

He got shot, after he learned that, his first instinct to being confronted with a teary, almost begging Ian, was pain rather than disgust, a desire to make things better instead of uttering choice words and a punch for good measure. He learned what it felt like to have someone other than Mandy and, occasionally, his brothers worried and wanting to make things better. It was just sex, he told himself, repeatedly.

Except, that rarely works even in _porn_.

They liked baseball and old action movies, and he knew that wasn't a good reason to go crazy and start thinking they had a connection. Connections weren't for Southside boys, especially gay ones. They made each other laugh and shared venting sessions about their family, and that still wasn't a good reason. There was no good reason, no matter how comfortable he sometimes felt in Ian's presence.

Then, he found himself looking up at the stars, his breath catching with an arm half-slung over his chest, a solid weight pressed against his side. Ian talked about joining the army, making a difference, and then, getting his family out. A decent middle-class job for his big sis, college for his older brother, and a childhood found on the Hallmark channel for his little brothers and sister. Maybe get real help for his mom, but Frank could rot.

Speaking of, Frank found out, and Ian went on about not being ashamed.

He didn't bother to explain he wasn't ashamed, he was just terrified, because some people would never get out. He was one of them. The way he saw it, he could kill Frank and hopefully live, or he could end up dead by his dad or his brothers or any of the other people who hated what they were. He could kill Frank, or they could both hope no one decided to express their displeasure by doing unspeakable things to Mandy.

Gun in his hand, he thought of helping Ian train, of Ian's stupid trust in handing him a loaded gun, despite the fact he'd shown plenty of times he wasn't above causing horrible pain. Gun in his hand, he'd never killed anyone, Frank could occasionally be useful to the Gallagher's when they found ways to manipulate him, and he'd tossed the gun away, wishing the officers had committed actual police brutality. If he ever deserved such a thing, it'd be then, getting himself thrown back in juvie instead of doing himself and society a favour, all because a redhead, freckled face boy was someday going to get out and he hoped he'd be allowed to see it happen.

After he gets out, it comes down to kissing Ian or possibly losing him, and soon after, he's shot, again.

Stupid or not, self-destructive or not, there's no excuse for not taking it for the sign that it was.

Now, his dad knows, he can't move for the pain, and the pain and blood and everything he's discovered he hates seeing on Ian is on Ian. There's a gun in his dad's hand, and there's a naked woman, likely a sex slave, and he knows this is it. This is when it ends, this is what he could have avoided if he'd done a better job of picking when to listen to himself and when not to.

Ian refuses to look at him, and he knows if he goes by his usual instincts, he'll feel the disgust and hatred and shame in Ian's eyes for the rest of his life, even after Ian leaves.

Well, it doesn't matter. He's being raped, he knows that, even if he'll never acknowledge it, and the woman on top of him probably is, too. There's no way to make this better for him, her, or Ian. So, he flips their positions and lets his shaking hand go between her legs.


End file.
